


The Predicament

by Kendrix



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crimson Flower Route, Crimson Flower Trio, Gender-Neutral My Unit | Byleth, Other, Sickfick, black eagles - Freeform, edeleth if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-03 19:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20458004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendrix/pseuds/Kendrix
Summary: “Come on Hanneman!” Manuela bristles. “You’re gonna freak them all out when you say it that way!” She turns so as to address both Byleth and Hubert, who has exited beside her. “There’s no need to worry yourselves ragged, it’s quite alright. As perfectly ordinary a predicament as I’ve ever seen one.”“Meaning what?”“She’s got the flu, Hubert. Simple as that. There’s no need for funeral arrangements just yet.”





	1. Human Frailties

Now it wasn’t as if Manuela was unaccustomed to unannounced late-night visits; Whether it turned out to be her latest suitor, or just some unfortunate soul whose battle wounds had reopened, it was wont to happen often enough.

But even so, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit indignant at the relentless, callous rapping at the entrance to her quarters, you’d think that whoever stood outside it had long nursed some inordinate grudge against wooden doors. To be fair, they had started out with two succinct knocks and only proceeded to drum up a storm when there was no immediate answer.

“Alright! Alright! I’m coming dear, but I must implore you that you give me a moment to get dressed! Unless you’d like for me to meet you in my nightclothes of course~”

That was a bit of a white lie, as it were not per se her nightclothes that needed to be got rid off, but a rather crumpled, regular gown that she had fallen asleep in.

Either way, her answer seemed to satisfy the source of the insistent knocks at least long enough for her to make it to the door.

Though she didn’t have particularly specific expectations of what she expected to find on the other side, she figured that it would be a single person, at most perhaps with a roommate brought along for moral support or, if things were dire, to help them stand.

Instead, she was met with a small commotion: Her gaze immediately fell on her colleague Hanneman, who judging by the long, gray morning robe he was wearing, appeared to have been likewise roused from his sleep. Next to him, she found Hubert of all people, hissing something about the need for utmost secrecy. Even by his standards, his expression seemed somber. A few steps behind was Byleth, with the Sword of the Creator strapped to their back, their face unreadable as usual, but their shoulders not without a certain tension to them, if she dare say so.

Within split-seconds, the squeaking of the old door-hinges brought all of their eyes to the former songstress now that she finally stood before them, and before she had the chance to speak, Hubert took it upon himself to enlighten her about his reasons to disturb her sorely-needed beauty sleep:

“Professor Manuela,” he began, under the assumption that this curt acknowledgment sufficed as a greeting. “Do make haste. Her Majesty has need of your services.”

Manuela was certainly willing to render her services to whomever might be needing them, from the Adrestian emperor herself to the smallest peasant child, but it would really have helped if the serious young man could have been moved to provide her with further explications as to what exactly would be required of her – instead, he lost no time in herding them towards the former students’ lodgings where, out of simple convenience, most of the Black Eagle Strike Force had been quartered in their old dorm rooms from five years before. The Emperor herself had been no exception, arguing that she was, after all, going to war for the cause of equality, and most certainly not going to make use the archbishops’ old rooms, for all that some might have deemed their larger size more suitable to a ruler; They had been left untouched, collecting dust like a monument of warning, or a likeness of the vacant throne up in the heavens – Not a reasoning that Manuela herself would have wholly agreed with, but by and large she could at least agree that it would not have been right for any earthly ruler to lay claim to those chambers; If nothing else, it certainly spoke to the emperor’s intention to truly break the yoke of unjust rule instead of merely seizing the reins for herself.

All the more reason for Manuela to wish that someone would finally fill her in on the details concerning the nature of this urgent situation, but it was hard to get in very many words since Hubert seemed much too preoccupied with continuing whatever serious discussion he’d been carrying on with Hanneman, and just from the snippets that she could pick up, it was hard to discern what precisely they were referring to.

Though the elder researcher was supplying theoretical speculation, the undercurrent of worry in his voice was impossible to miss: “Well obviously, the side effects haven’t been as grave as in Miss Lysithea’s case; if they were, Her Majesty would hardly be capable of walking about in heavy armor all the time. But if it _were_ something to do with that...”

“...then we must prepare for the worst.” surmised Hubert, his lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line.

As they made their way to the nearest stairwell, Manuela turned to Byleth, figuring that they would be her safest bet for procuring any straight answers:

“Just what is the matter, dear? Did something happen to Edelgard?”

“She’s not feeling well.”, Byleth supplied, their voice calm but dead serious.

“Oh my! And right before we meant to depart to march on Faerghus, too...”

In a brisk stride, Hubert leads the way. He marshals his former teachers to his Lady’s room, but insists that they are not to go in there without his supervision. Merely a routine precaution, or so he assures them. There isn’t even a trace of the half-smirks that go with his usual casual threats; though he remains remarkably composed, the two senior teachers can’t help but note that he’s distinctly on-edge.

Byleth is left to guard the door and deal with anyone who shows up to ask questions, a wise choice no doubt, but Manuela can’t help but feel for them a little at the prospect of their having to wait outside for the answers; They must be so very concerned.

But even so they stand at attention with nary a twitch on their stoic face until the other three emerge from inside – what gives the former mercenary away is the one swift step they take towards the door once it opens, their forward glance eager to endure whatever news needs to be contended with.

“Professor Hanneman?”

“Well well” the scholar begins in his usual, measured way of speaking, “I’m afraid this doesn’t quite fall into my area of expertise...”

“Come on Hanneman!” Manuela bristles. “You’re gonna freak them all out when you say it that way!” She turns so as to address both Byleth and Hubert, who has exited beside her. “There’s no need to worry yourselves ragged, it’s quite alright. As perfectly ordinary a predicament as I’ve ever seen one.”

“Meaning what?”

“_She’s got the flu_, Hubert. Simple as that. There’s no need for funeral arrangements just yet.”

Well. So much for that.

Though the young minister had maintained an admirable composure thus far, his sigh of relief caught him unawares and slipped out before he could do much about it.

He would have inquired further but gratingly enough, Byleth beat him to it: “Then she’ll be alright?”

“Most likely.” Manuela mused with half a shrug. “I’d keep an eye on her temperature and make sure she drinks enough water, but apart from that I see no reason why she shouldn’t be back on her feet in a couple of days. A week, at most...”

“I see...” Hubert responded, the gears in his head already grinding away to adjust to this new knowledge of the situation. “If it’s just that, then going too far trying to conceal it might just generate rumors worse than the truth… We may have to delay our departure, however.”

“In any case it would be better to wait and see if anyone else caught it...” mused Hanneman. “We can’t have this spreading through the entire camp, much less contend with an outbreak en route to Fhirdiad.”

“It’s not often that I agree with you, but this once, you’re right. From what I heard, most of northern Faerghus is awfully cold, too. Not exactly the best weather to deal with being sick…

Well then, I’ll head over to the greenhouse and see if I can cook up something for her fever. If you want to be on the safe side, I can touch her up with a bit of healing magic as well, that should at least alleviate the immediate symptoms...”

Soon after she had departed, Hanneman excused himself as well; Hubert, however, remained by the doorway, listening for the sound of their steps to trail off in the distance. Once he was sure that they could safely speak in confidence, he fixated Byleth with his pale, glinting eyes.

“To be honest, I’m not too worried about further attacks from the Church or the Kingdom at this point. What concerns me is that word of this might make its way to the regent. He would welcome just about any excuse to take power…

He and his ilk have always considered Her Majesty to be little more than their plaything, and I believe if it came down to it, Lady Edelgard would sooner slit her own throat than find herself at his mercy again – It is crucial that you understand that.”

At this point, Byleth had known Hubert long enough to sense that the thought troubled him greatly.

“It won’t come to that.”

“Probably not. Still. We should probably limit contact with the outside world for the moment, lest some of the merchants get wind and blabber to the enemy.”

He didn’t bother to specify if he meant enemies within or without the empire’s own ranks; They were, as it seems, beset by enemies from all around, with only this encampment as a faint glimmering oasis, and even here, there was no excluding the possibilities of spies – the best they could do was to delay any tattlers until their tales would arrive too late to be of value.

“We might call it a quarantine.” Byleth determined after about a second of subtly creasing their brow. “No need to say exactly who’s affected. That seems like the most prudent course of action either way...”

Grasping their reasoning, Hubert nodded at once. “I concur.”

He bowed low. “I shall take my leave of you then. I will explain the situation to the others.”

“Not me?”

“Indeed, Professor. In fact, if it’s agreeable to you, I would have you stay by Her Majesty’s side at all times. Just to be sure.”

“...Alright.” Byleth conceded, “But make sure to talk to Ferdinand before you do anything else.”

Though not extremely thrilled at the prospect, the former mercenary was surprisingly sure that the young man before him understood the wisdom of such a request. Out of their number, the Aegir heir was probably the best at working a crowd, barring Byleth themselves, and his relentlessly optimistic can-do attitude should serve to prevent any further dips to morale insofar as they could be avoided.

No doubt that he’d only be all too eager to fill in for Edelgard in her absence, as if to prove that he could taken on the burdens of leadership as well as she.

Once again, the professor couldn’t help but contemplate how far they had come – back when they’d first come to take charge of the Black Eagles, the Imperial students had been as disorderly quirky bunch half of whom lacked any serious aspirations, and while Ferdinand and Hubert had never been too lacking in that matter, it would have been hard to envision them trusting each other without question or even so much as appreciating each other’s particular skills and qualities back when Byleth first arrived at the monastery. Indeed, for someone who was often said to have an uncanny gift for winning other people’s trust, Byleth themselves had taken quite a bit to break through Hubert’s initial suspicion of them. From what they knew now, even Edelgard herself was fully expecting her beloved teacher to turn against them, for all of her subtle and not-so-subtle attempts to sway them to her side; Unlike her faithful co-conspirator, she had responded to that perceived inevitability with more wistfulness than cautious suspicion, though there was something quite heartbreaking about her earnestly shocked expression when Byleth had actually taken her side over Rhea’s.

Neither she nor Hubert had remotely expected any kind of fealty - Such were the sort of lives they had lived, marked as they were, too, by their early experiences with the bitter taste of betrayal.

Now, all these years later, their one-time professor had found themselves an indispensable fixture of their inner circle, perhaps, the first truly reliable ally that the two of them had ever been able to secure for their cause. If need be, it could have been the three of them against the world – but in no small part due to the former mercenary’s contributions, it had never quite come to that.

Against all odds, they had ended up coming back here with the rest of their class at their side.

Even the likes of the so-called Ashen Demon couldn’t be wholly unfazed by this – not too long ago, it would have been wholly unthinkable for Hubert to leave someone once affiliated with the enemy to tend to his lady in his place while he went to take care of business.

But even if the monarch in question were indeed afflicted by nothing more than some perfectly ordinary human weakness, that still merited at least perfectly ordinary human levels of concern, and thus, Byleth did not wait to look before carefully opening the door just the slightest bit.

“Can I come in?”

“My teacher, is that you? ...Yes, by all means, do come in!”

All in all Byleth could hardly fault Hubert for overreacting. Her Majesty really did look worse for the wear. Who would have thought that some pesky little virus might prove harder to conquer than both Church lands and Alliance territories?

They found her squarely in bed, in a generous silken black flower-patterned nightgown a few sizes too big, chosen such that it bared some of her upper back and shoulders but allowed no guess at anything below, covering everything down to her ankles much like the opaque stockings she used to wear at the academy. Most of her arms were concealed beneath long sleeves, likely for reasons a lot more grim than simple modesty.

Instead of her usual elaborate updo, she sports a long, single braid, comfortable enough to sleep with but likely to spare her the trouble of disentangling the strands every morning.

Without her armor, cape and otherwise imposing regalia, one would inevitably find themselves reminded that she was actually rather short and lithe of stature, particularly when she was buried amid ornate pillows and a thick, fluffy duvet.

Her face was notably flushed, her voice, a little hoarse when she beckoned her visitor to come nearer.

At this point, Byleth chose to set their weapon down on the floor and to seat themselves next to her at the edge of the bed – not that they much doubted that they could have picked it up fast enough in the unlikely case that they should be beset by actual assassins, but for the most part, they simply realized that Her Majesty currently needed a companion more than she needed a bodyguard.

She smiles weakly as they draw near, with a distant echo of the same disbelief she’d shown time and time again since they sided with her all those years before in the holy tomb, and wearily, she tells them what she’s told them ever since, time and time again in many countless ways:

“Thank you for being here.”

…

Byleth isn’t sure if they could even _catch_ the flu in their current state of divine empowerment, but even if they’d known for a fact that the answer is yes, they would not have been dissuaded from remaining by Her Majesty’s side – Somebody needs to.

Hubert comes in to check on them a couple of times, and though he was loath to say it out loud, the professor figured that he must be pretty grateful for their assistance; He likely had enough work on his hands as it was.

Apart from him, visitors are sparse that first day, not that there would have been much of a point in stopping by – The emperor is very much out of commission.

At first she’d had some ambitions of at least getting through some paperwork right here, even if she must be confined to bed, but in the end, even the light reading she had scheduled in case her initial plans were to fall through proved much too strenuous.

Her head ached, and so did everything else – before long, she was forced to concede that she would definitely not be concentrating anytime today.

Even when Manuela stopped by to drop off a mug with a bitter herbal drought and a pitcher full of water, it took the young ruler some notable effort to sit up.

“Sorry to trouble you,” she spoke, calm and collected as always yet noticeably drained, as she took the concoction from Manuela’s hands into her own, pale fingers. “I can’t believe that I’m holding everybody up at a time like this.”

Manuela would hear nothing of it: “Nonsense! Just focus on getting well for now. I daresay that _this_ is the best contribution you can make to the war effort at this moment.”

And though she wasn’t quite at peace with that notion, she was, ultimately a reasonable person, and very much knew her limits: “I suppose you’re right. As things are, it can’t be helped… Thank you for your help, Manuela.”

It was not like the emperor had much choice in the matter:

She passed most of the day in a state of liminal misery, too sore to find much sleep, but too fatigued for anything that would have passed for wakeful activity.

Whenever she did actually manage to nod off for a bit, she’d awake soon after with a dry feeling in her mouth, having been forced to breathe through it as her nose and related passageways were hopelessly blocked, but every time she woke, she’d find Byleth still close at hand, thumbing through some of the reports left on her desk so that they might appraise them in her stead.

When she first came to, her earliest conscious thought was the realization that the few vestiges of light falling in through the window arches were the last traces of the westering sun.

The whole day seemed to have passed her by without a warning, all the time she could have spent preparing, training, working, shortening this conflict by any length of time, just, pop, gone!

Not that she had any illusions that she would have been much help if she had forced herself out of bed, but, sometime during this day, she was certain that Ferdinand, Hubert and the others must have held the days’ war meeting, and she had not been there to address any eventualities – It’s not like she didn’t trust Hubert to pick up on anything that might have been important, but even the most trivial sort of detail could be the first warning sign of a looming trap – there was so much that had been staked on the distant promise of a better tomorrow, so many sacrifices that would be rendered meaningless if they were to fail now without accomplishing anything but leaving the world worse that they had found it – After every battle, she would personally go out to put flowers on the freshest batch of graves, and the weight of their names would rest upon her like the pressure at the bottom of an ocean.

This was too important – She couldn’t afford to be holed up in here.

She couldn’t stand to be holed up at all. She felt the walls, keenly, and the frustration that resulted – for she was perfectly aware that running into the courtyard in her night-robe was definitely not an acceptable option that would lead to any sort of constructive outcome. She really did know that – she knew that she’d just have to endure this. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already lived through much worse.

Even so, being unable to do anything was… hard to accept.

It was easier, however, when she wasn’t telling that to herself in an empty room.

Looking up, she was met with the blank gaze of Byleth, who had of course already taken note of her errant stirrings. “Feeling better?”

“...Not really, to be honest...” Then, with a delay that in itself spoke volumes about the truth to the young ruler’s words, a thought struck her, by itself, a fairly logical implication of the dimming light outside.

“Have you been here this whole time?” It was more of a scolding or mildly embarassed tone than a completely surprised one, so Byleth chose to count this as a private victory.

“You don’t need to, you know… You could just post some guards outside the door – you’ll need to do that anyways, unless you mean to stay awake until I have recovered...”

“Who says I don’t?”

That, at least, scored a weary smile from the virus-stricken ruler.

Before she could decided to take that quip too too seriously however, Byleth decided to explain their actual plans: “I already have Petra and Caspar taking turns with keeping watch in the hallway.”

“It’s not the security arrangements that I’m concerned about… my teacher, surely you must be bored out of your mind!” she intoned with a wan tinge of that subtle, playful quality that few but her professor had come to see with any regularity.

“Not particularly.”

“...If you insist on staying, then surely there must be something you can do to pass the time.”

She reached out an arm for one of the pile of books that had been gathering dust on her nightstand. Truth be told, she hadn’t touched any of them for a while – the war had left her with little opportunity. “I was meaning to read these, but I can’t seem to keep my eyes focused for more than a paragraph… You might as well borrow one of them. I must admit I’m a little curious as to what you would think of this one. Perhaps we could discuss it together some other time That is, if you’re interested – If seen you at the library many times. Do you enjoy reading?”

Byleth certainly knew that Edelgard enjoyed it – soon after their arrival, they had made it their project to learn the likes, dislikes, interests and preferences of pretty much all of their students – at the time, it was simply a matter of doing their allotted tasks to the best of their ability, much like they had maintained their equipment and kept up with their training in their days as a mercenary, though in time, knowing so much about each and every one of them had made it easy to grow fond of their charges, many of whom they would doubtlessly be forced to face when they finally marched on Fhirdiad.

But that was a weighty question for another day – for now, the former teacher was faced with a rather simpler one which, by comparison, should have been far easier to answer, or so one would think.

“I haven’t really thought about that.”, Byleth responded, and it was not even a concession, but a simple, laconic statement. “I had to brush up on my general knowledge since I was supposed to teach you and others.” As ever so often, Edelgard of all people could very much tell that it wasn’t a deflection, but an unadorned if unlikely truth.

“What was it you used to do in your spare time before you came to Garreg Mach?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“Is that so?”

There isn’t really a need for that question, she knows it to be true.

Though she had known them for quite some time now, the individual beside her never seemed to run out of mysteries, many of which they didn’t even recognize as mysteries that others would be baffled by. The emperor couldn’t say for certain whether she felt faint amusement or a sort of deep, yet distant sadness. “Then I don’t suppose that your unparalleled strategic acumen is due to the complete focus you have dedicated to your work as a mercenary?”

“I don’t really know. I guess I just never had much of an opportunity…”, Byleth concluded, with little of the wistfulness that some might have taken such a statement to imply. “Father and I traveled all over the land, and all we’d take with us were our weapons, our money and what we needed to survive… I rarely ever thought much further than the next days’ battle, and we never stayed in one place for too long… now that I think of it, he must have been concerned that Rhea would find us if we ever did… ”

Though she loathes the thought, the rational parts of her find themselves wondering how much of this really is due to her companion’s unusual upbringing, going from battlefield to battlefield and never much concerning themselves with many of their society’s more nonsensical features as it might be the case for everyone in a more logical world – and can’t help but consider if it had anything to do with whatever it was that the archbishop had _done_ with them as a child.

She’s forced to ask such questions about herself often, down to the most innocuous things – the day she heard Linhardt casually mention that according to some eminent scholar, people with crests were more likely to prefer sugary snacks, her appetite had been thoroughly soured for the remainder of the week.

Once upon a time, there was a helpless, inconsequential girl who had been powerless to understand or change what was going around about her, tossed about by the winds of fate like a little wooden boat in the deep dark waves of an ocean, hopelessly incapable of changing her own course. She’d been unremarkable in every way, and yet she could never have deserved such a miserable end.

In her place, something else had awoken, something sublime and unnatural with the might of a god-shattering star fallen from the heavens. In the end, the only thing that hadn’t changed was her name. Her father had still at times used her old childhood nickname up until his death, but it had never quite felt right anymore.

She supposed that the only person who could have quelled those doubts was a man whom she was intending to cut down in but a few weeks time, for she doubted that he would leave her any other option.

Sure, there was Hubert, who had known her from before and seemed to think of that incident only with wrath on behalf of her suffering and scathing disgust at the treason involved, but it was precisely because he knew her better than anyone else that he spoke of her true strength like a man who had once been shown something eternal in a vision of rapture.

For the longest time, she thought she already knew what their answers would be; She had pictured them, phrased as diametric opposites and yet underpinned by the exact same truth.

She’d wondered often what she might be like if she’d always been as she was now, without even the echo of having been properly alive to leave her with its imprint, but here before was a dear, treasured person whom she could never see as warped, even if they were kin of their enemies. Whatever happened to them clearly took place before they formed coherent thought, so they would never have known anything else. As far as Byleth was concerned, they were neither sublime nor unnatural: They were simply themselves.

And having known them, Edelgard had found herself beginning to think that maybe the same could be true for her too. The person she had been – the people they _might_ have been in some other, better world – were never coming back.

But as for the person she was now?

There might be hope for her yet.

Ever since Byleth had returned to them after all those long, long years, she had been beginning to think that there might come a day where she would be spoken to with tenderness and affection once again rather than just beheld in both terror and awe.

So it was not only on behalf of her own pain and discomfort that she somehow found their hand, and not just for her own sake that she squeezed it tight. If she could, she would have sworn to Byleth on the bones of her dead brothers and sisters that she would save at least _them_, but she knew well that she could make no such guarantees – She couldn’t guess _what _might happen to them after that cruel beast was slain. She couldn’t promise them that she and the others would find them a hobby even _if_ they both were to live.

So instead, she did what she’d always done, and remained steadfast on her forward course:

“Surely, your father must have been trying to protect you from her… I’m sure of it! Soon, once we’ve defeated her, no one else will ever have to run from her tyranny ever again…

Never again.”

“Never again.”

...

But whatever her ambitions or even hopes for the future, the emperor would certainly not be slaying any dragons any time soon.

Soon after the professor had accepted the thick, heavy novel out of her hands, she carefully placed herself back onto her pillows, ostensibly coming to regret many particular motions.

By the looks of it, her headache had yet to abate.

Soon after, she curled onto her side, facing away from her companion, but making no move to put further distance between their form and her back.

Though she trusted them with her life, it could not be comfortable for her to be seen in such a state – it was just as Hubert said; The Lady loathed the experience of being powerless and at the mercy of forces beyond her control above almost anything else, even if those forces merely amounted to the most mundane inconveniences of the human body.

No doubt this must be hard for her, which of course just left the former mercenary all the more stubbornly determined not to leave her side anytime soon – in the meantime, they supposed that they might as well peruse the book that been handed to them, since they had little else to do, and no reason not to.

At their side, Edelgard eventually managed to drift off to the sound of rustling pages. She could not rest deeply, her attempts at sleep interrupted by uneasy turns and the occasional distressed moan or murmur, but it was much closer to the real thing than she had come before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth's a harder one to get a read on but I tried to match the style of their dialogue options


	2. Ordinary Comforts

They are awoken the next day by the smallest little knock on the door.

Byleth hardly even recalls drifting off in a nearby chair, but they sorely regret it, especially given that they had come here geared-up for bodyguard duty – they guess that this whole divine empowerment thing only goes so far. They can already tell that their neck muscles are going to be complaining for the rest of the day – even so, they’d hoped to get themselves in motion before the arrival of their visitor could wake the sleeping emperor, but they had no such luck.

She rose from her sheets before Byleth was quite out of the chair, let alone done rubbing their dissatisfied shoulders, her hand poised to move the duvets aside, but at least, Byleth beat her to the punch at making it to their feet, gesturing with their arm for her to remain just where she was.

“I’ll handle it.”

So while Byleth made their way to the door, the empress did what she could to make herself the closest thing to presentable, sitting up against the pillows behind her.

When the door was opened, there was the sound of a sudden shriek, a few hastily mumbled words and rather more audible endeavors by the professor to calm the person in the hallway.

Having witnessed the whole spectacle from the bed, the emperor could have made a very sure guess about who was outside – and her suspicious were all but confirmed when Byleth returned, having closed the door behind them with their left because their right hand was occupied with holding was appeared to be a little piece of colored cardboard.

On their face was, without doubt, a fond little grin. “Would you look at this!”

Sure enough, the emperor _did _look once the little token had been brought closer for her to inspect it:

It appeared to be gift card, helpfully labeled ‘Get Well Soon’, and most certainly handmade: Bits of colorful papers had been painstakingly cut out and glued together to form intricate, largely floral motifs, and here and there, even bits of embroidered cloth had found their use – that, at least, should have confirmed all suspicions as to whom they owed the pleasure.

Though Bernadetta and the Emperor had rather divergent ideas of what they considered comfortable environments, the one point of overlap in their choice of favorite hangouts had always been the greenhouse, so the small archer had a fairly good grasp concerning the monarch’s favorite flowers, as evidenced by the various inspired renditions of red carnations – though a simple gift card, it was a thing of beauty, no, a veritable work of art, and even to someone not well-versed in handicrafts, it was apparent that a great deal of diligent work had gone into this, perhaps the better part of the previous day.

And that was not all: The card folded open to reveal both impressive pop-up decorations that unfolded into further floral ornaments, and signatures added by the remaining members of the Black Eagle Strike Force – Having corrected uncounted piles of essay papers and written tests all those years ago, Byleth would have recognized any of their handwriting at a glance no matter the circumstances: The were Caspar’s blocky, straightforward capital letters, Ferdinand’s impeccable, extravagant loopy cursive (he had, of course, signed with his full name) and Linhardt’s distinctive chicken scrawl that had not seen any sort of improvement in the past five years. Dorothea had underlined her name multiple times and drawn a few hearts in its vicinity, her writing as pretty as Petra’s was clear yet not overly ornamental. The handwriting of their newest member, Lysithea, was slightly less familiar to Byleth, since she had been a fairly late addition to their class given that she originally hailed from the lands of the now-defunct Alliance. But the professor could well imagine that she took pride in how neat and presentable it looked – back at the academy, her notes and essays had always been aggressively impeccable. Even Manuela and Hanneman had added their signatures, though many would have been surprised to learn which of them was responsible for the small illegible scrawl, and which had produced the neat, flowing cursive.

Byleth was still a bit surprised that the others had gotten Hubert to participate, as he was not usually the gift card type of person, even if this particular one _was_ intended for his lady. Even so, his distinctive gothic current script was unmistakable – after their defection from the church, Byleth came to learn that this was a style commonly taught among the Empire’s many officials, bureaucrats and mandarins, especially those holding age-old hereditary positions, though most of them would have been minor nobles not nearly as illustrous as the infamous House Vestra. The former mercenary had soon learned to distinguish Edelgard’s newer, more meritocratic appointments just by the fact that they didn’t write like that – In time the old crust would be swept aside unless they actively earned their keep.

Hubert himself, of course, would have proven his own worth a long time ago; Agreeing to sign the card must have been a concession to either Ferdinand or Bernadetta, whose own surprisingly cutesy writing extended further well-wishes above the many signatures. If anything her own style had gotten more pronounced over the past five years, much like it had come to be reflected in her clothes – Though she had always shown a desire to do right by her classmates and often overcame her inhibitions precisely for the purpose of delivering an apology, it would have been hard to imagine her taking the initiative in this sort of matter. If Byleth recalled things correctly, Bernie had actually used to be somewhat scared of Edelgard at the beginning, but then again she had pretty much been scared of everything.

Even so, seeing this proof that the former members of their class had all come together for the sake of this sort of sweet little gesture, one could not help but consider how much they had all grown past their initial shortcomings and frictions witch each other. They used to be stuped whenever their house leader would bring up any notions of camaraderie and togetherness, as if the distance between them had been unquestionable and absolute, and she, in turn, would surely have hidden any weakness behind her businesslike front, with only Hubert ever coming close to suspecting when she might be having a bad day, and none of them would even have perceived her as someone who might ever be in need of a little support, but all that was in the past now.

Looking over all the unique signatures, the empress and her teacher couldn’t help looking at each other with notable smiles that were perhaps subdued, but most certainly genuine, feeling both a sense of pride, and the swell of warmth that tended to come with the realization that one was not alone. The latter was of course more pronounced for Edelgard, but by no means absent for Byleth.

“Did you have something to do with this, my teacher?”

“Nope. I’m proud to say that they must have cooked this up all on their own. It’s only natural. You’re not only their leader, but their comrade.”

Edelgard shook her head. “Looking back, I doubt that I always lead them As well as I should have. I’m not sure I would have come too far if it weren’t for your help. If it weren’t for your brilliance and the way you have supported all of us, all we sacrificed might have been in vain… I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I try my best…” Byleth concedes with half a shrug. “You’re aware of your limitations. That has always been one of your better qualities. But you mustn’t bee to hard on yourself, either. Your resolve, your far-sight, your commitment to a better world… They’re all part of what brought us here, myself included. If all this injustice that has gone on for so long now finally stands a chance of being righted, it will be because of your actions.”

“I certainly hope so...” she muses, revealing a rare moment of uncertainty that not many but Byleth would ever have seen on her refined, regal features.

After many hours spent doing little but tossing around in this bed, a few alabaster strands have come loose from her braid, and together with her faltering expression and crumpled nightclothes, they create an earnest, very human impression; Without doubt, many of her enemies or even their allies would not even have thought her capable of such a moment; Byleth, for their part, longed only for the kind of peaceful world in which she would no longer feel the need to hide that side of her or at least, not all the time; She deserved some reprieve from the weight of her burdens, not to speak of the looming threat of their lurking enemies.

As things stood now, the only reason that she had even allowed herself to spend a single day without ceaselessly attending to urgent business was that she had literally been too weak to sit and work for extended periods of time; Nothing short of that would have netted her a moment’s freedom, and given her condition at the time, she would hardly have had the chance to enjoy yesterday’s break.

She was barely awake for most of it, and yet kept from true rest by the fevers. Speaking of which, Manuela had told them to keep an eye for that, so Byleth took this moment to look her over.

While the emperor’s complexion was still far from its usual radiance, she certainly looked far less flushed.

“How are you feeling?”

“Well, to be honest, less worse.”

“May I?” After receiving a nod of confirmation, Byleth carefully placed their hand on her forehead. “At least your fever would seem to be down.”

“That explains it, I suppose...”

“I’d still stay in bed for today, if I were you.”

Frustrated, but not surprised, the emperor sighed. “You’re right, of course. You’re always right...”

“Think of it like this: You are one of your strongest individual fighters. If we are to succeed in our endeavor, we will need you back in peak condition. So taking care of yourself is the best contribution you can make to the war effort right now.”

“I know.”, she admitted with a sigh. “I know that pushing myself will just make it all take longer, I really do understand that, but...” before any other person, the conversation would have ended here.

Though she might not always succeed at it, Edelgard always striven to make reason the final arbiter in all her decisions. All that mattered were the final results, and everything that stood in the way of them had to be dispensed with. Indulgence was a luxury she could no longer afford.

But reason would scarcely have been well-served by denying that lecturing herself about their pointlessness seldom made her doubts go away.

To an extent, she had long known that nothing really did; So she’d never had any use for words of sympathy that would do little but remind everyone involved of their own powerlessness to remove the pain, or turn back the clock on the sort of things that could never be undone.

She had believed this once, quite firmly, and yet, her pale fingers reluctantly found their way to the fabric of a certain mercenary’s long, dark sleeves. Though she made the choice to reveal her thoughts, she could not quite meet her former mentor’s gaze.

“I cannot stand being reduced to doing nothing. There’s no time for this, not while this war goes on, not while both the Church and Those Who Slither in the dark can claim more victims.

I know well that it is foolish and counterproductive to be impatient, but as I expect, you must have realized this isn’t really about patience at all... When my uncle dragged me away to the Kingdom, I could do nothing. Day and night, I could only stare out the windows of the mansion that we were staying in – But at least it _had_ windows. I’d been thinking about it a lot, now that we will soon be marching on Fhirdiad. All the time I was there, I had wanted nothing more than to go back home and see my father and siblings again… but never like_ that_. I didn’t see the sky for many many moons and again, I could do nothing while my family died all around me.

After all that time, I had finally seen them again, only to lose them forever in the most terrible fashion… They didn’t all just die. They suffered dreadfully, slowly…

They opened us up, they sewed us back shut, and that was only the beginning… It was like a searing fire that burned you up from the inside, When you get careless and put your hands to close to the flame, your arm will pull away before you even notice, but you cannot do that if the burning is under your skin. I clawed at my own arms, but it wouldn’t go away…

In the end, I could hardly move, not even swat the rats off of me – or keep them from gnawing at my older sister’s face not long after she stopped moving – She was inches away from me, lying on the same filth, and I could not even manage to take hold of her hand in her final moments, though I knew that I would never be with her again...”

“That’s horrible.” She’d spoken about it to you before, of course, but it seems that there was always an endless fount of new gruesome details.

“She was the youngest daughter of my father’s lawful wife. Counting me, father had eleven children, but his wife only four. I later heard that she threw herself off the highest tower in the palace mere hours after she was shown their carved-up corpses… after they died, each of them was taken apart, so that my uncle and his lackeys could see what had gone wrong, so they could keep perfecting the procedure. They saved me for last – maybe they thought that they would have better odds of of succeeding, since I already had _one_ crest – Or perhaps my uncle just looked to expand his position of power by making one of his relatives the new heir apparent… Perhaps that’s why he dragged me off to the kingdom to begin with.

And all along, I could do nothing –_ nothing __at all._”

(Though unprompted, Byleth’s hands find their ways to her shoulders.)

“I swore that I would never be powerless again. That I would never again stand by and do nothing. I would force the wheels of history to turn forward with my own two hands -

And yet here I am. Held up with… _nothing!”_ she sounds downright indignant there, like she wants to take it up with the manager of whoever designed the human condition, but under the bristling pride, those who knew her well might have heard the struggle of something softer. “...unacceptable! I need to _do_ something.”

Byleth, for once, knows her better than to bother scolding her; There is nothing they could say that she had not already told to herself.

Telling her to calm down would have been akin to ignoring the point she was making, and tough luck talking her out of an inconvenient reality that she very much knew to be truth; The least Byleth could do was to acknowledge her situation, for she had never fobbed them up with phrases or presumptions in their own trying times.

“...sometimes, there really _isn’t_ anything we can do.”, the mercenary spoke somberly, looking her in the eye. “At least not here and now.”

“Naturally, you are right again...” she observed with a small bitter, pained smile.

“I’m not sure if there’s anything ‘natural’ about it… I had to learn this the hard way myself when I couldn’t save my father...”

“That’s hardly comparable to something like this...”

“In magnitude, yes, but the principle is the same… There are limits to what each of us can do.”

“I knew that. I couldn’t have walked this path so far if I didn’t know that… but even then there’s usually at least something that you can do to act. To move forward...”

“Well, something I _could_ do right now is go get Manuela so she can have a look at you. You _could_ also try and see if you can manage to keep down some breakfast. You didn’t touch your dinner at all yesterday.”

“...I suppose that’s not nothing...”

…

On their way to disturb poor Manuela yet again, Byleth is met with Hubert, who passes them on the staircase to the corridor. The former mercenary doesn’t miss the probing looks that go up and down their frame, though at this point, it is more a matter of habitual vigilance than genuine distrust.

“I trust you did not leave her Majesty unguarded?”

“It’s Petra’s shift right now, I just passed her in the hallway upstairs. I was about to get Manuela.”

He nods in what you take to be a gesture of understanding.

“Be honest with me. What is Her Majesty’s condition?”

“She’s doing better, actually.”, they announce, and though subtle, their smile in unmistakeable. “I think being cooped up in bed has been harder on her than the actual illness...”

Hubert responds with what might have been a sigh or a harrumph, but all in all the good news keep his sharper-tongued impulses in check and he seems grateful, though unsurprised by the nature of her struggles – He had anticipated this after all, most likely, he had previously stayed with her through similar challenges.

He can probably tell what she is feeling without the need for words, but he is probably still equal parts glad and mystified to learn that there is now someone that she would actually admit it to.

Maybe he’s considering if there was something he himself could have done different, but he appreciates that his role is likely simply a different one. As long as his lady benefits from having both of them at her side, he would most certainly not be objecting.

Hubert had not always agreed with his former professor, but he couldn’t denied that they had proven their competency and loyalty time and time again, and even broadened his own perspective and understanding many times; As a matter of principle, the dark-clad mage always made a point to stay ever vigilant in the presence of both friend and foe, but while they might not always do it in the same way, the imperial spymaster knew now that he was dealing with a person who, like himself, very much wanted to ease his lady’s burdens.

So when Hubert addressed them, it was very much as a co-conspirator, or a partner in crime: “See to it that she continues to rest. _Make her_, if you must.”

“Wouldn’t you be more suited to that task? You’ve known her longer.”

“No. It _must_ be you. You’re about the only one left alive that she would ever accept an order from.”

With that understood, there was not much need for many further words.

Hubert disappeared up the staircase, and Byleth continued on their way.

...

When Byleth did find their way to Manuela, they did not follow her right away; instead they took a detour to the dining hall, from which they returned deftly balancing no one, not two, but three trays of breakfast – for they did not think that Hubert would have entertained many thoughts of such sublunar matters before going to check on Her Majesty.

Between carrying around all manner of lost objects trying to find out to whom they might belong, and the various efforts they had come to run both for the various monastery staff and now, for the war effort, the former professor had actually become quite adept at balancing copious piles of _stuff_ in their arms, so that the three dining trays were hardly a challenge.

They had made sure, too, to get each of them something they liked – their own tastes had always been fairly simple, they were content with most as long as it was decent and plentiful. Most of the available options were already much fancier than the simple fare they’d been used to on their travels with their father; They were hoping, however, to jumpstart Her Majesty’s appetite with some glazed cinnamon rolls and, just to make sure she got some protein in, a fancy little quiche stuffed with salmon among other things.

Hubert had always been the tougher customer of the two. Despite his initial antagonism and the frequent vague threats early on in their relationship, Byleth had enough faith in their own ability to evade assassination plots that they had initially tried to approach him like any other of their students, if not as a teacher, then certainly as his commander – try to find out what he likes, make sure he’s comfortable, listen to his question, win his respect and, in the end, help him to accomplish his dreams whatever they may be.

Though his visions of his future might have been a whole lot more definite than those of his classmates, that didn’t mean that he didn’t have anything left to learn when he first appeared in Garreg Mach – indeed he certainly knew it and wasn’t shy to make use of conveniently available assets in his surroundings, though he might have disapproved of the monastery as an institution overall. Much like Edelgard, he was not particularly trusting, none too easily impressed and unlikely to just accept whatever was given to him, but _unlike_ her, he hadn’t quickly taken to Byleth at first glance.

If it wasn’t for that special connection between them, his lady might have proven just as tough to crack, given that she had not shared her truth with anyone else in all the years before she met them – then again, though she made a deliberate choice to keep that in check, the young imperial princess had never been immune to sentimentality, and had she not seen the urgent need to change the rotten world around her, she would have likely chosen a quieter, peaceful life filled with ordinary joys and delicious pastries.

It would be harder to picture Hubert in such a life – not impossible either, but not _quite_ as easy.

Byleth supposed that as a teacher he should have been pleased with such a serious, diligent student, but it was not impossible for there to be too much of a good thing.

He was hard to approach on more personal communication channels, all business, all the time, to the point that Edelgard mentioned him sometimes as the one who kept _her _on track when she found her own focus wandered, and though this was seldom enjoyable in practice, she appreciated him for it. Furthermore, he was not one for material comforts, and frequently expressed disdain at those who would get held up with inconsequential trivialities, and spoke with contempt of those he viewed as indulgent extravagant, decadent degenerates.

For a high-ranking nobleman of the empire, he was rather spartan, looking to require only what it took him to serve his lady and keep working towards higher-minded aims – all in all, it spoke for him that he was not content merely coasting through life as a spoiled brat, but it made him a tough nut to crack since he simply refused to be flattered or pleased.

Even when Byleth finally started making progress with him, the best they could hope for at first was some backhanded comment about ‘studying his preferences’, pleased enough but still very much suspicious. It helped that due to their previous line of work, Byleth was well equipped tell a good book on strategy from a bad one, even if most of the names referenced therein would have been new to them.

In the end, they had come to rely on each other, and they were both too observant to spend so much time fighting side by side without picking up a thing or two about each other – if they did not catch on quickly, Edelgard might not have bothered to keep either of them around.

Hubert appreciated a sharp, alert mind as well, particularly in an ally – at some point they’d made a bit of an inside joke about Byleth spotting wherever his former students had hidden his usual variety of lethal implements that he tended to carry on his person on this particular day.

So by now, Byleth knew full well that Hubert would surely welcome a cup of strong coffee (black with no frills) and some slices of rustic rye bread topped with cold ham or pickled herrings, the simple variants without many additional spices.

Of course this probably went both sides – though Hubert had yet to catch them wholly off guard, the mercenary was sometimes still surprised by how little got past their former student.

They’d never quite forget the day where it seemed like he had somehow caught onto their inner dialogues with Sothis.

Of course, it had been a very long time now since they had last heard her voice. Byleth had not really talked much about it the two of them, for if she was truly the goddess of this world, she’d been nothing like the church described her as, and it was that commonly accepted version of the goddess that Edelgard and Hubert so objected to. What they would think of the actual Sothis if they had ever met her, Byleth would never know – to them she had never been this big, looming entity, but more like a kind of imaginary friend.

They missed her, and they surely did not hate her the way Hubert said he did, but they could scarcely imagine worshiping her any more than they could picture themselves falling to their knees before, say, Manuela.

To be regarded, however briefly, an an authority in a religion they had never been a part of had been a mind-boggling experience to say the least. They didn’t know about the next world, but they’d spent quite some time in _this _world, and from what they could see, Hubert and Edelgard were very right to say that it wasn’t being properly governed – as a lifelong warrior and a person of action, Byleth could certainly not see themselves waiting for the world to fix itself, when they had the means to put it right with their own two hands.

They’d cross any bridges relating to the next world when, or if, they got there.

As for Sothis, the last they heard of her was when she must, undoubtedly, have brought them back to this world, and she’d told them to do something about the suffering in it – so Byleth could not imagine that she would disapprove too much of their current doings, though they had parted ways long before the former mercenary was forced to choose sides. Besides, she had told them once to carve a path that was their own, so she’d have no right to complain when they did precisely that.

…

Upon returning to the Emperor’s room, Byleth found Manuela already gone, though she had most definitely been here, seeing as there was a steaming mug of some herbal brew on her majesty’s nightstand.

In the armchair that her one-time professor had spent the night in was Hubert, who had ostensibly been speaking to his lady until just now, when his attention turned to the door, which Byleth had pushed open using one of their elbows.

“Ah, professor. I was just bringing Her Majesty up to speed on the events of the last forty-eight hours.”

“Then it’s good that I’m here, because I could use some news as well. But first, how about some breakfast?”

They did not actually get through their respective snacks before the topic turned back to the subject of strategy, the fine-tuning of the finer nuances of the complex ins-and-out concerning their next moves that few others would have been able to follow. It was natural enough - Now that Claude Riegan had left the country, the three people gathered in this room were probably some of, if not the greatest tactical minds in all of Fodlan, and given the urgent matters that rested on their shoulders, they could not really afford to sit idle.

The emperor remained leaning against the cushions, but as both of her closest companions noted with relief, her mind was a great deal more awake and active that it had been the day before; she cleaned her plate, too. Though she was not quite back to a hundred percent, she was noticeably on the path towards recovery.

Neither Hubert nor Byleth made their relief too obvious, but to Edelgard, it would have been embarrassingly blatant – if only a single person in this world had noticed, it would have been her. Of course, she knew better than to draw attention to what she herself would have preferred to keep at least partway controlled if the roles had been reversed, but at the same time, she appreciated it deeply. Not that she had ever doubted that either of the two would be concerned for her, and if they had been more vocal, she would surely have insisted that there was absolute need, but to see it, feel it, to know for a fact that she could feel the support and care of others, even in her role as a peerless, solitary ruler who must stand alone above it all, separate from the comrades she had fought with and the people she longed to liberate, regardless of what she had become, well…

Though she knew to put it into perspective, she could not fight the awareness of the warm feeling that was welling up within her chest, sneaking in before she even noticed.

Of course, since she had only been out of commission for a day, the briefing did not actually continue all that long, and they concluded before they were finished with their respective hot beverages, which were then still too warm to be safely chugged down in one go.

So before the minister of the imperial household would have been required to return to overseeing their encampment and keep ready to respond to any reports of enemy action, the three of them got to sit in companionable silence for a while.

There wasn’t much trivial chatter, though they did exchange a few thoughtful remarks.

And though this might not have been apparent to those who expected more overt, expressive modes of communication, to anyone who knew them, or had sufficient powers of observation, the genuine sparks of contentment in their otherwise faint smiles would have been unmistakable.

It was then, of course, that the door was bluntly pushed open to let through the sound of a boisterous, upbeat voice: “Professor! Edelgard! Hubert! What have you three been plotting here all on your own~”

…

As it would turn out, the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force would not be contented with merely signing their names in Bernadetta’s card and letting that be the extent of their contributions -

Over the course of the day, there were a number of visits;

Most notably, there was Ferdinand, who marched in with the necessary implements to try out a whole plethora of home remedies – He had always been little over the top, and though he meant exceedingly well, Byleth eventually made the decision to see him out as gently as they could once his enthusiastic ministrations had clearly been beginning to exhaust the lady.

Even so, it has been said that it’s the thought that matters, and the thought had certainly been appreciated. It’s like the idea that he could _not_ go overboard to support a friend in need had never even crossed the redhead’s mind – and while he could have been humbler about it, it was probably a good thing that he had taken the opportunity to inform Edelgard that he had everything perfectly handled in her absence and that she need not concern herself with anything apart from getting well – in the end the serious matters were truly what worried her the most.

With him was Linhardt, probably of his own accord, for all that he claimed to have been conscripted by Ferdinand. Since he’d wanted to get back to whatever it was he’d been doing – possibly nothing much – he was mercifully more concise and informed the weary monarch that according to what he’d once read in a book, drinking lemon juice and/or honey was sure to soothe her throat and get her familiar old command voice back in gear before she knew it.

Edelgard wasn’t quite sure whether this was supposed to be some badly executed sarcastic comment but in either case she found that the young scholar's advice did actually help.

He _had _been her friend for a while now, though it had never quite reached the tell-them-everything, trust-them-with-their-life, stick-together-no-matter-what stage of friendship – and though he wasn’t the most tactful or reliable person, the young white mage had always had a good heart.

Not long after they had gone, Petra and Caspar came in, carrying several buckets full of water, which seemed have to been repurposed as impromptu vases, filled as they were with numerous fresh cut flowers.

Energetic as ever, the blue-haired warrior was the first to greet the room’s occupants: “Hi Edelgard! And hello Professor! We thought that you two must be getting pretty stir crazy from being cooped up in here all day!”

“You must be tired of being indoors, ” the island Princess added. “So we were thinking that maybe we could be bringing some of the outdoors into the indoors!”

“I don’t really know anything about flowers, but I know this meadow around here that has a pretty nice view, and there’s all sort of wild plants and tall grasses growing there, including these… so you don’t need to worry about us razing the whole greenhouse for this.”

“I… thank you.” replied Edelgard, uncertain of what else to say.

“This means more to me than you know.”

And she was right, they didn’t know; To be honest, Byleth wasn’t sure if there would ever come a day where she would feel comfortable exposing her hidden longings and vulnerabilities to more than just a handful of people, even if those people were her comrades – most likely, Petra and Caspar had just tried to consider what they themselves might have longed for in this sort of situation, because they themselves would have been grieved to be away from the earth and sky for too long, unaware of the particular reassurance that the young ruler found in nature, or the dark history behind it – though their sincerity held a value of its own.

“There is no need to be thanking us. Good environment is important to be feeling better. Besides, we are your friends.”

“Yeah! And friends can’t just stand by and do nothing when their friends are feeling crappy!” Naturally, Caspar said this with a big, broad smile on his face, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Even so, the emperor seemed perhaps more moved than a batch of wildflowers would have warranted, even if the two _did_ go through the trouble of hauling them here from some picturesque clearing in the surrounding woods.

“Even so, I won’t forget this.”

Lysithea, for her part, would not have missed an opportunity to be the one fussing about her comrades for once, since she was usually on the receiving end of the fussing – perhaps the experience of returning the favor would make her feel less indignant when it would be her turn again, since it would feel like a much more mutual matter – Hence, Edelgard made a point to fondly endure the petite index finger raised at her as well as the highly ironic lecture about taking care of herself.

At least, one could not doubt the sincerity of her concern.

Dorothea’s visit was as certain as the blossoms in springtime, and like many things that concerned matters of the human heart, it came to her more naturally than to many of her peers.

Her presence naturally filled the room with warmth and word and brought joy and relief to all who basked in it; Though she would never think so highly of herself, she had always been the heart of the Black Eagles, and she smiled a small, knowing smile when she went to see the emperor and found the professor already at her bedside, a rare, proper one brought on by a deep sort of relief – At first, she had worried that her friend would not have allowed anybody to stay at her side in her moment of weakness, or that her mentor would remain adrift in the lofty heights of their enlightenment rather that feel called to such sub-lunar matters as playing the role of a nursemaid, but here they were both, firmly planted on the ground.

And though neither of the two had been too gifted at keeping up a conversation when there was no news of great relevance to be shared, once the former starlet came in, the flow of words sustained itself like a perpetuum mobile. The war had not left them with many joyous topics to discuss as of late, but the retired musician had made a point of going through the effort to find them, if only so that she might hold on to support her friends another day.

And Dorothea wasn’t sure if the two of them had become more overt at showing their feelings with time, or if she’d simply gotten better at picking them up, or if it was simply that she’d come to amass a little bit more confidence underneath her familiar old pretense radiant glamour, but there had used to be days where she would not have been nearly as certain that they had both been sorely glad for her visit.

….

Maybe tomorrow she would attempt some light training or, at least, take care of her documents.

As for today, Edelgard could at least claim that she got halfway through the book which had sat untouched on her nightstand for the last couple of weeks. There was now a second bookmark sticking out of it to mark how far Byleth had come earlier in the day.

This too, was progress of a sort, and maybe that could be enough for this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The CF Trio is a subtle bunch of characters and I wanted to keep/ embrace that here while still having Moments(TM)

**Author's Note:**

> Byleth's a harder one to get a read on but I tried to match the style of their dialogue options


End file.
